"But shall we forget all that, gentlemen, and go back downstairs? I could do with a cup of wine; and I imagine the two of you could too."

They followed him away from the bright sunlight down into the shadowy interior of the castle and back to the same table at which Jim had met him, sitting with Brian when Jim arrived. They took benches, and mazers of wine were put before them. Jim noticed with interest that his original mazer, from which very little of the wine had been drunk, had been taken away-the wine almost certainly drunk by one or more of the servants back down in the kitchen.

"But," said Brian to Sir Mortimor, once they were seated, "if the brown dog was indeed a Djinni, then maybe he could get in here without being seen, or without coming by the normal route through the doorways. They use magic, don't they?"

"Oh, yes, yes," said Sir Mortimor. "But it was no Djinni, of course. What would a Djinni want here-"

He was interrupted by possibly the one thing about the castle as penetrating in sound as his own voice. It was a sudden outburst from the gong being beaten on top of the tower. There was a scurry of footsteps running down the stairs toward them, and one of the lookouts burst in, even while the clamor continued overhead.

"My Lord! My Lord!" he shouted. "They are here. They are almost on us. They rode around the two headlands, one galley around each just now. Within minutes they will be beaching their craft before the village!"

"By the Wounds!" exploded Sir Mortimor, leaping to his feet and oversetting his own br.i.m.m.i.n.g mazer of wine on the table. "Can't a Christian gentleman have a moment of peace in his own house?"

He glared at the messenger, who was standing white-faced before him, reached absently for his own mazer, discovered it had spilled and picked up Jim's instead, tossing it off in what seemed to be a single swallow. Rather a good trick, Jim thought, considering the mazer must have held close to a full pint of wine.

The gong was still going mad overhead, and Jim's ears were beginning to ring. He saw Sir Brian's lips move, but did not hear what the other had said Sir Mortimor's voice, however, rose through the din without any difficulty.

"Front doors opened for villagers!" he snapped. "Slingers and bowmen to the top of the tower. Run!"

The messenger scuttled down the stairs toward the lower levels of the tower.

"Could that gong be silenced now. Sir Mortimor?" Brian shouted through the din. "Surely everyone in the castle has heard it by this time!"

"The villagers must hear too. Come with me, gentlemen!"

He stepped to the stairs, almost knocking into eternity a bowman who was hurrying up them at the moment; and went on up, two steps at a time, leaving Jim and Brian far behind as they began to follow, Brian behind Jim simply because Jim had been closer to the stairs to start off with.

"I am naked except for my poignard," puffed Brian in Jim's ear. "It is well you have half armor and your own sword on, James!"

It was true. Jim had been wearing the sword, simply because, as a knight traveling, it was unthinkable that he should go without it. His half armor, which consisted of a chain mail shirt and a steel cap, he had worn as a natural traveler's protection. The men who had met him as he stepped out of his boat after getting here had not taken the sword from him-possibly because it was unreasonable that he could have overpowered the dozen or so of them even with it. In fact, Jim suddenly realized, he was getting so used to the weight of the sword and the armor that he himself had forgotten it when he was introduced to Sir Mortimor.

"You better go down and arm and armor yourself then, Brian," he said over his shoulder. "I'll tell Sir Mortimor-"

"No, no," said Brian. "It would not be polite. Our host should have told us if there was need for us to dress for any trouble."

"He may just have forgotten," said Jim dryly. His opinion of Sir Mortimor so far was still something of a question mark. "If it turns out that swords are needed, Brian, I'll pa.s.s you mine. You can make better use of it than I could."

Brian made some kind of noise that sounded like a protest, but both he and Jim were too out of breath trying to catch up with Sir Mortimor to talk much further. Also, just about then they emerged onto the roof.

Already there were some three or four other men who had rushed up the stairs from below at the first note of the gong. One of these was the bowman who had almost been brushed into the air shaft by Sir Mortimor. Jim had come up expecting to go immediately to the edge of the battlements and look down at the invaders; and that Brian would do the same thing. Instead, both of them had halted where they were, their attention riveted on a man who was coming down a long rope, like a spider descending on his own thread from a ceiling; only in this case the rope came down from an outcropping of rock on the overhanging cliff behind the castle, the top of which looked as if it could be reached only by birds or angels. Sir Mortimor was standing wide-legged, looking balefully at the approaching man.

"Why didn't you see them?" snarled the knight, as the man's feet touched the top of the tower.

"Crave pardon, m'lord," said the man. "They must have hugged the sh.o.r.e in their galleys-at least enough so that the headlands blocked my view for several miles. They may even have slipped in to sh.o.r.e under darkness last night and been waiting until now to come close."

"Hah!" said Sir Mortimor. "Well, in any case we have them here now."

Even while this brief conversation had been going, men had been pouring up the staircase onto the roof.

Jim counted only three bowmen. But there were a number of others; thin, dark-faced men, slim-bodied and not too tall for the most part. They seemed unarmed, unless the large, bulging pouches at their belt contained some kind of weapon.

In addition, there were other men coming up who were plainly unarmed, but had their arms full of rocks, which varied from the size of a baseball to the size of a small cantaloupe. These they were piling close to the battlements on that side of the tower that faced the beach and the village below.

Brian had already gone over to those same battlements to look down at the invaders. He was standing beside Sir Mortimor, who had also turned his attention in that direction. Jim joined them. Below them the zigzag road up to the stairs leading to the castle's now-opened door was crowded with people carrying various things, ranging from an ax to sacks holding unknown contents.

The two galleys that had been mentioned were just now turning in, prow-first toward the beach. It was clearly their intention to come in as close to the land as possible. Indeed, they checked themselves and anch.o.r.ed not more than ten or fifteen feet from sh.o.r.e; and now men were jumping overboard at the prow, landing in water varying from waist deep to shoulder deep, and wading ash.o.r.e. They varied remarkably in both armor and the weapons they carried; but most had a round, obviously wooden shield, and a curved sword-the latter carried naked in their hand as they reached the sh.o.r.e.

No sooner was one out of the waves than he charged up the beach, shouting as he went, toward the village and those still trying to escape up the road to the castle.

There was no order to the way the attackers came, but very soon a good share of them were on the land and already in among the villages. Jim had expected to see the buildings there go up in flames almost immediately; but they did not. Instead the attackers merely rushed through the structures in pursuit of those trying to escape.

"Slingers!" said Sir Mortimor.

There were still only about half a dozen bowmen on top of the tower, but possibly as many as three dozen of the other men. These lined the battlements facing the beach, reached into their pouches, and drew forth a length of doubled leather thong with a flat leather pad in the middle of it, which had been poked or molded into a pocket. Digging again into their pouches, they came up with dull slugs of some sort of metal. Each at his own rate of speed fitted a slug into the pocket of his thong arrangement, took both ends of the thong and began one-handedly whirling the whole arrangement lightly in a vertical circle, as they gazed down at the beach, the weight of the slug in the pocket stretching the thong arrangement-which was evidently and clearly a sling-to its fullest limits, so that it rotated like a solid wand in the hand of each as he twirled it.

"Never mind any that haven't reached at least to the bottom of the road," said Sir Mortimor. "Pick off those close to the villagers. Wait for my order."

The row of men stood apparently idly whirling their slings. It was not until the first of the attackers were within a few steps of overtaking an old woman who was lagging behind the rest of those frantically trying to reach safety, before he gave the word; and by that time the section of the road that had been left empty behind the villagers was now full of the Moroccan pirates.

"Now!" said Sir Mortimor and all together, as if it had been rehea.r.s.ed, one end of each sling was let go, the slingers leaning forward all together as they released their missiles-and, immediately, each slinger had another slug out of his pouch, fitted it into the socket of his sling and was whirling it again, slinging now as each one was ready.

Down below, the results were remarkable. From this height, of course, the impact of the slugs was soundless and, unlike the strike of arrows, there was nothing to be seen in the way of a shaft with feathers sticking out of the person hit.

"Balearic slingers!" cried Brian with delight. "They are Balearics, are they not, Sir Mortimor?"

"For the most part," grunted Sir Mortimor, his eyes still on the situation below. "They have to be trained from boyhood, like those who use the longbow. But some of these are cheaper, raised closer to hand, and from the standpoint of a castle like mine, it is much easier to stock great amounts of the slugs they throw, than the carefully made arrows a bowman must use, and which usually cannot be recovered when a castle is being attacked and possibly besieged. Also, they have not the range of the longbow, but at short distances like this they are wonderfully effective."

"Effective indeed!" said Brian.

And so they were.

To Jim, looking down from the tower, it was as if half of the closest pursuers had suddenly collapsed on the ground; and those still on their feet had turned and were in panicky flight back down the road. The rearmost of these also fell; but by the time they reached the bottom of the road, most of the slingers had stopped whirling their slings and were looking to Sir Mortimor for further orders.

Sir Mortimor shook his head.

He had evidently signaled for wine, and someone had brought it to him. He stood with a mazer in his hand, nearly full with the red liquid, but was not drinking from it. There was silence on the tower top.

Down below, however, the invaders were making enough noise for both sides. Looking down from the battlements, Jim could see that most of them had crowded into the little s.p.a.ce between the houses of the village and the beginning of the zigzag road up the slope. They howled and shook their weapons, looking upward at the battlements. A few of them evidently had bows, for arrows flew from among them, none getting any higher than three-quarters of the way up the tower before hitting the stone sides and dropping back.

"Not surprising, that," said Brian, watching beside Jim. "Hard to judge the distance to your mark looking so sharply up hill as this."

Sir Mortimor sipped at his mazer.

A few more arrows lofted into the air high enough to fall harmlessly onto the tower top. Minutes went by, and gradually the noise below dwindled and dwindled until there was silence there as well. Then a strong voice shouted alone.

"English knight!" it called. "Sir Mortimor, I know you are there. I am Abd'ul Hasan, and these are all my men. You cannot hope to hold out against us. I would speak with you. Sir Mortimor. English knight.

Show yourself at your battlements!"

Watching from those same battlements, Brian with Jim saw the crowd below move apart to reveal a single tall individual in a red turban and a long, flowing white robe standing almost on the beginning of the road up the slope itself. He was taller than most of those around him; but even from this height, Jim could see that he was nowhere near the height of Sir Mortimor. His brown face looked upward, waiting.

Beside Jim, Sir Mortimor leisurely stepped forward to stand towering over the serrated rock teeth of the battlements and looked downward.

"What is it?" his remarkable voice rang out and down to those below.

"We will take your castle, burn it around your ears and crucify you!" cried Abd'ul Hasan."But this, only if you force us to fight our way in. I give you a choice. Come out now, leaving all behind; and you and everyone with you shall go safely. I repeat, come out now, and you and all with you shall go free, safely.

We only want what is inside your castle!"

Sir Mortimor stood, not answering, simply looking down at him. After a long silence the man below shouted up again.

"What do you say, English knight?" he said. "Answer me now. You will not get a second chance."

"I am German," Sir Mortimor's voice over-rode him.

"I care not what you call yourself," shouted Abd'ul Hasan. "Do you accept my terms? Say yes or no now. You will not get another chance."

Sir Mortimor looked down at him thoughtfully. As the seconds fled by he lifted the mazer to his lips but only sipped at it again, then took it from his mouth. Slowly and deliberately he turned his wrist to pour its contents through the empty air, to splatter on the last few steps leading up to the front door of the castle.

He tossed the empty mazer after it. The cup was of metal; it fell in a straight line to the stone steps, hit and bounced, hit again, and half tumbled, half rolled, now an unrecognizable pounded lump of metal, almost to the feet of Abd'ul Hasan. Then Sir Mortimor turned and walked away from the battlements.

For a long moment there was silence below and then a swelling roar of rage came up from the attackers.

On top of the tower Sir Mortimor's voice came clearly through the tumult.

"Ten men on duty here at all times," he said. "Everyone to sleep with their weapons and-Beaupre!"

"Yes, m'lord," said a narrow-bodied man with a sword at his side and European body armor above the waist, as well as a steel helmet. His hair was dark brown and plentiful; but smallpox had made a pitted ruin of his otherwise sharp-featured face.

"You will have the charge in keeping," said Sir Mortimor. "A special watch to be kept on the stairs and a guard on the door; the kettle up here to be filled with oil and a low fire under it, ready to heat it swiftly if there's need. You will tell me, asleep, awake, or whatever I am doing, if they begin to show signs of attempting to force the front door. Otherwise, it is in your hands. I expect little for a day or so; but make note of when they try us from above, and if they try gunpowder against the walls and any else of the usual things."

"Yes, m'lord," said Beaupre.

"Well, gentlemen," said Sir Mortimor to Jim and Brian, "shall we down stairs once more; and try again if we may not have a little time to ourselves?"

He did not wait for an answer; but turned and went directly to the stairs opening and down it. Jim and Brian followed.

CHAPTER NINE.

"Beaupre will be my squire if I have need of such," said Sir Mortimor, in an unusually quiet voice.

They were seated once more at the table where they had been before, with three more of the apparently endless supply of mazers filled with wine before them. Sir Mortimor had waited until the servant who brought them had left the floor.

"As it is," the tall knight went on, "he is my second in command. If he should call on you to do something, you will please me by regarding it as a request from myself. I expect nothing much to happen for a day or two. They will try all the easy things. We may hear stones poured upon the tower from above, and some attempts to break through the walls at ground level, but nothing serious. Beaupre will take care of this, all of it, and call upon you only if needed."

"Sir Mortimor," said Brian in a level voice, "I crave pardon if I misunderstand you. But it seems to me that you are suggesting that two belted knights fight if necessary under the orders of a squire."

"So I am," said Sir Mortimor, meeting him eye to eye. "You gentlemen do not know wars as they are fought in this part of the world; and Beaupre does. I a.s.sure you he will use the best of manners in speaking to you."

"That is hardly the point. Sir Mortimor," said Brian. "We are guests of yours, I believe?"

"You are," said Sir Mortimor. "What else might you be?"

"I expect nothing else," said Brian. "But I also expect that if my host would welcome my a.s.sistance in defending his house, then my host would ask it himself, rather than sending someone of lesser rank to demand it of me."

"Very well," said Sir Mortimor. "I do so ask."

"In that case," said Brian, "I will be only too ready to help as much as I can."

Jim felt the pressure of the conversation on him.

"And I too, of course. Sir Mortimor," he said.

"Then I think we are agreed, gentlemen," said Sir Mortimor. He stood up, leaving his wine untouched.

"While I have put Beaupre with the charge in keeping," he said, "it is nonetheless my castle, and my decisions rule. I will therefore be aware of all that is going on, and this will leave me little time to pay attention to my guests. Sir Brian, if you would accept Sir James into the quarters I gave you, I would appreciate it. The possessions you brought with you when you came here by water, Sir James, have already been carried to that room. If in any way you are not comfortable, simply call a servant and say what you want. If it is possible to supply you with it, my castle will supply it. Now, if you will excuse me, I will be about my own circuit of the castle to see how things are being readied."

He turned, strode to the stairs and went down out of sight.

"Brian-" began Jim. But Brian raised a forefinger and brushed it across his lips, and Jim broke off abruptly.

Brian got to his feet, picking up his mazer as he did and beckoning Jim. Jim followed his example, but left his wine behind. Brian led him to the staircase and down a single level into a small s.p.a.ce from which three doors opened off. He took the one to the left, and led Jim into a room that was obviously intended as a guest bedroom.

In contrast to what Jim had been used to finding in castles in England, it was more s.p.a.cious than most such guest rooms were; the bed was much bigger, with four posts and a canopy all the way around it; and what might have been otherwise considered an arrow slit in the wall was several times as wide as the ordinary arrow slit-making a good bid at calling itself a window. There were, however, no shutters on it.

In case of bad weather not only wind, but rain, would enter.

Jim's possessions were piled in a corner; and, among them, he was happy to see, was his personal, rolled-up and vermin-free mattress. There was also a table and barrel chairs in the room. Brian carefully closed the door behind them, beckoned him over to the table, sat down himself with his mazer and motioned Jim to a chair.

"James," he said in a low voice, "unwittingly, I have led you into a trap. If your magic gives you means of escaping from here, I beg that you will use it. This attack on Sir Mortimor's castle should be no concern of yours. I am heartily sorry you have become involved even this far with it."

Jim looked across the table at Brian and saw that he was in deadly earnest.

"Of course," he said, "I could get away by magic. In fact, we both can get away by magic. What have you got yourself into here, Brian?"

It was not until the last words were out of his mouth, that he had realized that he had committed an unpardonable social error by asking such a personal question of Brian, in spite of the fact that Brian was his closest friend. He had no right to ask Brian to tell him why he was in any kind of situation. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Brian spoke before him.

"Never mind it, James," said Brian, as if he had read Jim's mind. "I understand you speak only out of concern for me. No, if you can escape, you must do so. I, myself, am not free to leave."

"Why not?" asked Jim.

"I came here as an invited guest," Brian said, "after meeting Sir Mortimor in Episcopi, where I was visiting with some other good knights- English knights-whose grandfathers settled here at the time of an earlier crusade. Sir Mortimor has not failed in his duties as a host toward me; and I cannot fail in my obligation as a guest to him, now that he has a difficulty on his hands. It is not so with you. You came only to find me, and you find me tied here while you are free to go. I beg you, James, leave while you can; and if a message must be sent back to Geronde and Angela, say that I was well the last you saw of me, and merely had a small bicker on my hands which might delay me slightly in getting on with what I came here to do."